Heartless
by Technicolor.X.Unicorn
Summary: Overused and underloved. But why look for love in an Organization made of members without any hearts?


I'm sick of this. I'm fucking sick and tired of being the bitch to every single person in this goddamned Organization. Another night, another body, another fuck. Another morning alone, more feelings hurt, more ice driven into a non-existent heart. I'm somewhere close to ditching this whole scene, to never touch anyone again. There's no point. It's not like anyone would actually want me, that would be ridiculous. Well, want my physical self maybe, my body as good as any other to stick it. Satisfy your sick pleasure and leave me to pick up the empty bottles and cigarettes off the floor, put the sheets in the dryer and wait for another night. Another night, another body, another fuck.

There's hardly anyone I haven't been involved with in some way at this point. They see me as such an easy game to play, they think I'm fine with all of this. They wouldn't care even if I wasn't. They don't know a thing about me, and that fact isn't going to change anytime soon. The more you open yourself up, the more ways there are for people to hurt you. I tend to stay shut up for this reason.

Twisted melodies of "human" cries snaking around the sick air of the room, smells of sweat and cum, no one even bothering to squeeze a lie of "I love you" through their teeth. Not that I would believe it if they told me anyway. I've learned that quite quickly in my time here, making a few mistakes along the way, but those hardly matter now. Nothing matters at all. The days go on, memories fade, fade into memories until it's like they never happened at all. A lack of memories is all I have at all anymore, former fantasies drug into sick realism, with none of the happy endings and all of the worst-case scenarios.

It's easier when you realize that no one cares though. Easier to detach oneself, to fall into rhythms and soak into lies, ignore the truth for the moments needed and fall into character, put on a face. All they ever want you for is for who you pretend to be, and there's no point in ever trying to come through, to show what you're actually like. Does anyone really know me at all? I should think the one of two nights ago should, a strange relationship out of most of mine, with less sex and more talking. Are four years enough to know someone at all? Or are memories of experiences all there is? Why are all my memories fading? Where have all my happy times gone?

How did I wind up like this?

I don't want it to be this way. I don't want to be a whore, I don't want to be in love. I want more than sex and less than a connection. I'm terrified of vulnerability. I'm terrified of being hurt. I can't believe in relationships and I can't believe in myself. I can't believe that anyone would ever love me for the messed up fuck I really am, aside from one person who doesn't even count. They say love doesn't require sex, but the kind of love I'm looking for does. But outside of such a thing, sex is never, ever love. It's using, a cheap game that's been played for centuries. Make me a lover, tear me to shreds. Turn me around and fuck the tears out of me, I don't want to feel the pain in my heart, so direct it to my weak points. Tie me up and cut my throat, slice my skin off and melt it over my eyes. Cover my mouth. Stuff my nostrils. I don't want to see, I don't want to scream, I don't want to breathe. I want to be happy. Secure.

I can never be secure with anyone.

There's always something getting in the way. A logical mind tends to be the quickest culprit to name. I can't believe it'll ever work. I know it's never going to work because nothing ever does. There isn't someone out there for me and I'll never even find anyone close. I'll die alone, fall asleep outside of arms, and my face will be too hard to let the tears slip out. I don't care about being alone. I don't care about being miserable. I'll sleep alone, I'll let someone else come in. I won't feel different any other way.I don't even know who I am, so how could anyone else even try to guess a thing about me? Futile efforts don't make for a fraction of success, though you can't have success when you never even try. My head is full of lies, and my heart is full of ice.

Except for the fact that I don't have a heart.

It died with me the first time I realized the truth of this world, that happiness is a lie and love is an even bigger farce. I won't fall victim again, I'll put out and get out but never stick around until morning.

I'm done. Finished. This is the last straw, the last needle in the horse's eye, the final nail in the coffin.

I don't believe and never will. The child in me is dead, the adult never formed. I'm a worthless larvae, an empty shell, useless to anyone in spirit.

This is the end.

A Nobody like me can never hope to have a heart.


End file.
